Everything is bathed in a brilliant golden green at the Inn at Cedar Falls. I’m sure it’s because the sun himself is smiling approval at the thoughtful, unobtrusive way the Inn is tucked and nestled in Hocking Hills.
A modest sign quietly informs you that you have arrived. Cars are parked out of sight behind trees to remind you that here is a place best traveled on foot so that you may take everything in the way it should be; with your senses and not trapped inside a rumbling box of metal and glass in an unnaturally cooled climate. There is soft grass under your feet as you walk around exploring and spotting unexpected things. A soft breeze rippling across your skin brings the scent of flowers and green grass so heavily intoxicating you can nearly taste both of them. Birdcalls of all sorts from all directions tug for your attention but it is the clumsy buzzing of bumblebees so plump and heavy from their foraging that they nearly hover in midair as they try to decide where to go next. They only seem to be spurned out of their lethargy when a yellow and black butterfly goes flitting impudently to a flower within their domain. Then the bumblebees dart quickly and burrow deep into the nodding heads of flowers buzzing angrily at the audacity of others.
I took all of this in as I walked up the hill to my room thinking that I may just want to take a feather pillow and lay down in the grass to sleep under the stars. But I was charmed to find that my room had no number; indeed it was called ‘Meadowlark.’ How much better to stay in a room called Meadowlark than a room blandly numbered 14! An old-fashioned screen door creaked just as it should and then I unlocked the second door and let myself in.
